


im standing guard(im falling apart)

by LastOneOut



Category: Star Trek: Lower Decks (Cartoon)
Genre: Anxiety, Banter, Beckett's got issues okay, Bisexuality, But this is more fluff than anything honestly, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Mentioned, Cuddling, Dunking on Fifty Shades of Grey, F/M, First Names Used As Terms Of Endearment, Intrusive Thoughts, Late Night Conversations, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Set post ep 5, actually beta read for once, also probably a bit ooc but I dont care anymore lmao, kinda???, pre-finale, very brief thoughts of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29827182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastOneOut/pseuds/LastOneOut
Summary: “Dude Barb is way out of anyone’s league, trust me. She’s so perfect it’s freaky.” Beckett continues, “I don’t know if you noticed but it did nearly drive me insane.”Brad falls silent for a moment, giving her a weird look that she wilts under.“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”
Relationships: Brad Boimler & Beckett Mariner, Brad Boimler/Beckett Mariner
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	im standing guard(im falling apart)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been sitting like 90% done in my drive for months and it's finally done!!! Huge thanks to @AshDoesFandom for being my beta and giving me feedback :D
> 
> Title is taken from Eight by Sleeping at Last cuz I'm unoriginal and it gives me HUGE Mariner vibes.

_In her dreams, she's always too late._

_Barb turns into a monster in the hallway, in the map room, in the mess hall, in the shuttle bay, on the platform._

_Brad gets eaten, mutilated, torn to shreds, murdered in a thousand different, horrifying ways and all she can do is watch as another room in the ship is covered in her friend's guts._

_(They'll clean up the mess—it won't even stain—but the blood will still be there in her mind. After all, even now years later, she can still feel Angie's blood on her face like it was yesterday. She burned her uniform, showered until her skin was raw, but it wasn't enough. Some things never really go away.)_

_Only it's worse because this time it is her fault. She didn't figure it out fast enough. She couldn't convince Brad, or anyone else. She ran and shouted and leaped from shuttle to shuttle until her muscles burned and she tasted blood at the back of her throat and it still wasn't enough._

_In the worst of them, she gets there just in time to see the monster slit his throat, or snap his neck, or sink its teeth into his jugular. She watches the life fade from his terrified eyes, knowing that if she had only been faster, better, smarter, more convincing, then he'd be still alive._

_In some of those dreams, she desperately wants to let whatever monster Barb turned into kill her too. She's so tired of fighting. So sick of being left behind._

_And then Brad becomes an empty bunk. A box of ashes and a folded flag sent home. Another ghost that she'll never be able to run away from._

_Another name that alcohol can't make her forget._

* * *

Beckett jolts awake, heart pounding in her throat and barely holding back a scream. 

The nightmare quickly fades, the quiet noises of the ship and her crewmates sleeping helping her fight off the bulk of its grasp. She curses quietly and sits up, kicking her blanket off her legs, the fabric sticking to her sweaty skin. The air is cool and helps ground her further, but she still has to focus on her breathing, falling back into a practiced pattern—the only thing she learned in her many mandated therapy sessions that ever actually helped—until her heart finally stops racing and she collapses back against her bed, fully awake and completely exhausted.

Beckett knows she should try to sleep, the nightmares have been plaguing her for over a week and while she's good at working on little to no sleep a full seven days is really pushing it, but she can still feel anxiety buzzing under her skin like a deep, frustrating itch, and she knows it's pointless to even try. 

She’d probably just have another nightmare, anyway.

Instead, she sits up again, reaching for her padd. The lock screen helpfully flashes the time at her, nearly 3 am, and she sighs, unlocking the device and flipping through the various applications, trying to find something to help her relax.

There's the trashy 21st-century erotic-romance novel D'vana sent her, some ridiculous plot about a woman falling in love with a millionaire who's into kinky sex. It's nearly the worst thing Beckett's ever read, but it's good for a laugh, plus it seems like the sort of dramatic cheesy nonsense Brad would be into _—Brad who's so happy to find a girlfriend, so deeply in love that he can't see the danger until it's too late_ —She shakes her head, quickly shoving the thoughts away and closing out of the novel.

There's the latest video comp of Admiral gaffs. A bird shit on Davis during a trip to an elementary school, and there's a great clip of Benson trying not to freak out during a service dog graduation since he's scared of animals _—and Brad was scared too, in the end. He had that same look in his eyes when Barb transformed right before she ripped his jugular out_ —Beckett groans, slamming her finger against the pause button so hard it almost hurts.

Maybe a game then. She’d liked that zombie shooter _—and there’s the sound of flesh being torn open and blood, so much blood_ —Or the puzzle game Rutherford recommended _—so many variables and she’s no closer to an answer and time is running out, she can’t be too late, not again_ —Okay maybe the stupid campy farming sim with the smiling flowers _—and they’re all smiling, nothing’s wrong Mariner why are you acting so crazy? But there is something wrong she knows it’s wrong why won’t anyone_ ** _just listen_** —!

She tosses her padd to the side, the device making a dull thud as it hits the wall of her bunk.

 _'He's okay, dumbass. He’s literally sleeping right below you. Calm the fuck down.'_ She thinks, digging her shaking hands into her scalp until the skin aches as she tries to breathe again. In, count to four. Hold, count to five. Out, count to four. Again, and again, and _again_ , but her hands still shake when she pulls them away and her heart won't stop racing. Then the tears come because of course they do. It's stupid and embarrassing, but thinking that only makes it worse, and soon it hurts to pull in the measured breaths past the lump in her throat. 

"Goddamnit..." She whimpers, before giving in and curling into herself, muffling her pathetic choked sobs in her knees, thankful that at least no one's awake to see it. 

"Mariner...?" 

_Fuck._

She freezes, holding her breath to fight back another sob and hoping Boimler will think she's asleep, but the universe must have it out for her because seconds later she feels a gentle hand land on her shoulder. 

She jolts away, quickly wiping her hands over her cheeks, but the way he’s looking at her makes it clear it's way too late. 

"W-what the hell do you want." She snaps, pointedly ignoring the twinge of regret she feels when he flinches away. 

"Sorry...I just wanted to make sure you were okay." 

"What are you, my mom?" 

"No, but I am your friend." He replies with a weak sigh, "Last time I checked friends were supposed to look out for each other.”

She turns away, scrunching further into herself and glaring at the wall, but Brad either can't take a hint or is just done dealing with her crap for once because after a moment he hefts himself up into her bunk, settling at the other end. 

"You want to talk about it?" He asks softly. 

"No." She shoots back. 

He shrugs and stays seated, and she curses how non-judgemental his gaze is. Why does he always make it so hard for her to hate him when she wants to? This whole stupid situation wouldn’t even be happening if she didn’t care about him. Hell, it’s exactly why she makes a point of _not_ caring about people, especially people in Starfleet. You start off being friends and then the next thing you know there’s a dumb, life-threatening situation, you get swamped with all these gross, messy _feelings_ , and it’s all downhill from there.

The silence stretches on between them, Beckett occasionally shooting him a glare that he ignores as she tries to get her crying under control. Eventually she manages, and she’s just about to tell him to get the hell out of her bunk before she _throws_ him out of it when he finally decides to speak.

"Did you read that weird book Tendi was going on about?" 

She stays quiet. It's probably a dick move, he's just trying to be nice, nicer than she deserves, but old habits die hard.

"Well don't waste your time, it was really bad. I honestly can't figure out why she liked it so much. Maybe they don't have a lot of good romance novels on Orion." 

"You read a lot of romance novels then?" She snarks weakly, glancing at him. She’s quick, but she still catches the small smile he gives her before she looks away.

"Maybe," He replies, "But I don't think you need to be an expert to see how bad that book was. I mean the protagonist was basically just a blank page and the love interest was a huge dick. Ransom looks like a ten by comparison." 

She chuckles, and he gives her a real smile that somehow manages to make her feel calm for the first time in days. 

"I dunno, Ransom is kinda hot. He's dumb as a box of rocks but some people are into that." He gives her a knowing look and she kicks him. "Hey, I didn't say _I_ was into that sort of thing. I just don't kinkshame." 

"Sure, and you totally didn’t feel anything at all when he beat the crap out of that alien shirtless in front of you.” He jokes, rolling his eyes, “Even I think that sounds kinda hot.” 

“You know he stabbed me, right?” She replies, “Trust me my type isn’t ‘himbos who are willing to use sharp objects to physically incapacitate me’.” 

“No offense Mariner, but that sounds exactly like your type. But by all means, prove me wrong. What’s your type?” 

“What is this, a sleepover? Are we gonna play truth or dare next? Tell ghost stories? Talk about what boys we like and paint our nails?” 

“Do you have a boy you like? Not to brag but I do have some experience in this area, maybe I could give you some advice.” 

“Yeah, experience with a girlfriend who was only dating you because a weird alien bug was sucking on your brain stem who then immediately dumped you once we peeled it off your skull.” Beckett flinches as soon as the words are out, kicking herself as the smile fades from Brad’s face, “Hey...I’m sorry. Barb breaking up with you like that was a dick move.”

“It’s okay.” He replies, giving her another smile, but it’s weak and doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “I mean you were right, she really was way out of my league.” 

“Dude Barb is way out of anyone’s league, trust me. She’s so perfect it’s freaky.” Beckett continues, “I don’t know if you noticed but it did nearly drive me insane.” 

Brad falls silent for a moment, giving her a weird look that she wilts under. 

“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?” 

She withdraws further, a defensive glare crossing her face. “How do you-”

“Your bed is like four feet above mine, Mariner.” He interrupts, before giving her an honest, understanding look that makes something in her chest tighten painfully, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” 

She shifts uncomfortably, pulling her knees back up to her chest and looking away. Her brain is screaming at her, throwing up every defense mechanism she’s ever relied on, but it’s the middle of the night, and something about the darkness and quiet and Brad’s stupid, non-judgemental face is making her walls crumble. 

“I was really worried about you, that’s all.” She says, her voice tense. He looks surprised, but stays quiet, waiting patiently for her to continue. She groans, throwing her hands up. “That’s it, okay? You’re soft and squishy and stupid and I was worried.” 

Beckett keeps her gaze level with the wall next to her, waiting for him to say something—hopefully something stupid and mean so she can snap at him without feeling bad—but the only sound that he makes is a small, choked gasp, and her eyes widen as she looks over to see that he’s biting back a laugh. 

“You’re laughing? I’m being vulnerable over here and you’re _laughing_? I can’t fucking believe you!” She snaps, shooting a foot out to kick at him.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” He flounders, weakly deflecting her blows, “It’s just don’t think anyone has ever insulted me while admitting they care at the same time.” 

“Yeah well I’m just that fucking talented I guess.” That only makes him laugh harder, and Beckett has to fight the urge to smack him. “I swear to god _Bradward_ , if you don’t stop laughing at me I’m gonna make you wish you got eaten by a shapeshifting alien parasite.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He says, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm himself. It takes a minute, and she glares at him the whole time, but eventually he sighs and slouches back against the wall behind him. “You know, Mariner...” He continues, “I’m actually really glad I have someone like you looking out for me, even if you do get a little weird about it. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend who was willing to go on a dangerous spacewalk and fight a giant monster just to protect me before. It’s...” He looks away then, a light blush dusting his cheeks that absolutely does not make her stupid heart skip a beat, “It’s nice.” 

“Yeah well it's like you said...that’s what friends do. Look out for each other or whatever. Besides, this is Starfleet, if you don't look out for your friends they all..." Her voice fades as her brain catches up to her, the last word sticking in her throat. 

"Hey, come on,” He says, bumping her leg comfortingly, “It's gonna take a lot more than an alien parasite to take me out."

 _'No. It really wouldn't.'_ She thinks bitterly. Angie was a great officer, had top marks in all of her physical combat classes, but all it took to kill her was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's always that way. In Starfleet hardly anyone actually dies in grand, noteworthy ways. No, most deaths are stupid and pointless. Warp core accidents, exotic diseases, transporter fuck ups, holodeck nonsense, stupid fights based on miscommunications. Hell the most common Starfleet death by far is being blown out into space because of a hull breach, and no amount of skill or knowledge could possibly save you from that. 

He sighs when she doesn't respond, not that there's much to say anyway. It's not exactly a secret how dangerous Starfleet is, and how likely it is to die from something stupid. It's more like an uncomfortable truth, something you try to ignore—and occasionally joke about—just so you can get through the day without having a complete nervous breakdown. 

"I'm just...tired of watching people die because of stupid mistakes." She whispers eventually, “And I’m okay with looking a little insane sometimes if it means everyone lives." 

The silence that stretches on in the wake of her confession is nearly unbearable, and she quickly tries to think of a joke or something to break the tension, but before she can Brad moves to get up, and all of her warring emotions are replaced with panic as she realizes rather than leaving he’s moving closer to her. 

"Boimler, what the _hell_ are you doing?" She asks, her voice rising to a squeak as he awkwardly shuffles forward until he's sitting right next to her. She freezes, her face burning as their shoulders gently bump against each other. His skin is warm and soft, and she’s close enough to feel the slight rise and fall of his chest. He stays still for a moment, giving her more than enough time to tell him to stop, before lifting his arm up and gently wrapping it around her back. 

"Sorry, you just looked like you could use a hug." He explains quietly, still pointedly looking away as a slight blush tints his cheeks. 

The denial sits on the tip of her tongue, her usual refusal of any sort of physical affection practically muscle memory at this point, but Brad is warm and close and _alive_ , his comforting presence somehow quelling her anxiety so thoroughly that the exhaustion of the past week hits her like a train.

"It's...fine." She replies, leaning in slightly, and then a bit more, just because she can, "You just better not tell anyone." 

"I won't." His arm tightens around her, "This is a circle of trust, but for real this time, I swear." 

"Alright." 

They sit like that for a while, silent but for their breathing and the occasional stifled yawn. Brad keeps his arm around her, though at some point it drifts lower, his hand casually coming to rest at the curve of her waist. Eventually Beckett's eyes slip closed, and as she floats on the edge of sleep she's struck by how natural it all feels. She's always been a touchy-feely person, but more often than not her casual hugs were strictly one-sided—Not even the handful of hook-ups she’d had in the last few years ended with anything other than hastily redressing and half-hearted promises to meet up again soon—and she hadn't realized how much she missed just being _held_. No expectations, no baggage, just one friend comforting another. She would never admit it out loud, but she really could get used to this. 

“You should try to get some sleep,” Brad says quietly, breaking the silence, and she feels a brief stab of something between panic and disappointment at the idea of him leaving. It’s childish, but the exhaustion has clouded her mind to the point that she couldn’t be asked to care. She doesn’t want him to leave.

She’s not quite tired enough to actually _say_ that, of course, so she simply reaches over to grasp at his shirt and hopes he understands. 

Beckett feels more than hears him chuckle, but before she can muster the energy to be upset about it he speaks, his voice a soft rumble in his chest, “I didn’t say I was going to leave. I’ll stay until you’re asleep, alright?” 

She nods and lays down, close enough that she can still feel the warmth of his body, only slightly missing the soft pressure of his hand on her side. Luckily before she can do something embarrassing like ask him to hold her again, sleep starts to overtake her, and she gratefully lets her eyes fall shut. 

However, just before she completely drifts off she feels a hand hesitantly ghost over her forehead, soft fingers gently brushing her bangs out of her face. It's enough to pull her a bit closer to consciousness, a tidal wave of warmth flooding her body at the feeling. 

"Goodnight, Beckett." 

The last thought that crosses her mind before sleep takes her is how much she loves the way her name sounds in his voice. 

* * *

Beckett wakes to the snap of a camera shutter. 

"Fuck." 

"Tendi!" 

"Sorry, I thought it was on silent!" 

As Beckett's eyes snap open she realizes several things in incredibly quick succession. One, Brad did not, in fact, fulfill his promise of staying _only_ until she fell asleep(Which she supposes she can't fault him for, it was probably close to four am when she passed out and he's a morning person). Two, at some point during the night they ended up cuddling, her curled tight against his chest with his arms wrapped around her no less. And three, poor, sweet Tendi just did the one thing that would rocket her to the top of Beckett's shit list for, probably, the rest of their lives. 

Beckett quickly sits up, jostling Brad awake in the process, and turns to see Tendi standing in front of them, data padd in hand and looking like she only just realized exactly how bad of an idea this all was. 

"Tendi, _run_ ," Rutherford says quickly, likely sensing the suddenly very murderous energy taking over Beckett's mind.

In the end, Tendi barely makes it to the end of the hall. Her padd, on the other hand, spends the next year drifting through space before burning up in the atmosphere of a nearby planet. 

**Author's Note:**

> You know that vine where the guy goes to wake up his friend and there's another guy in bed with him? Yeah.


End file.
